


Edge of Seventeen

by Starsare



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starsare/pseuds/Starsare
Summary: It's the summer between high school and college, and Keith and Lance begin to realize that their relationship isn't quite as black and white as they thought.





	1. Block Party

Out of all the families on the block, the McClain clan was definitely the biggest. They were also the loudest, the most excitable, and the sweetest batch of individuals a person could ever have the honor of meeting.

 

Keith truly believed that every one of them were specially hand crafted by some god in the sky, each filled from their toes to their nose with an overwhelming sense of compassion and love for one another. They were admirable in their own right; this coming from a boy with no family by blood. But even if he had, he doubted that his blood would be thick of pride like that of the McClain’s.

 

Even Lance McClain, Keith’s least favorite person in the entirety of the world was praiseworthy in the sense that he had an aura of belonging that Keith Kogane simply lacked. This was a little fact that he would keep to himself though, as he’d done for several years up until this point.

 

**June 3rd, 7:35 pm**

 

Keith had been reminded several times throughout the week about the block party that was to be held at the end of the street at the McClain’s house, and yet, when his bedroom door was loudly pounded on that evening, it didn’t even cross his mind that he should be getting ready for a party.

 

In fact, he was incredibly busy doing the exact opposite. The boy was sprawled out on his twin bed, covered in several blankets of all shades of black and gray, all the while nibbling on pizza rolls that had gone cold at least an hour ago. He was also deep into youtube, watching videos that had absolutely no relevance to the topic he’d begun with, nor even cared about. Even so, feelings of slight irritation rose in his chest when he was forced to push the computer aside so he could get up and open the door.

 

Half a second before his hand reached the knob, the door swung open on it’s own (nearly hitting Keith in the process), and in popped a familiar face lined with wrinkles and dark blemishes. Despite the aged appearance of the man clearly past his prime, he was rather tall and strong looking, towering over Keith by many inches and nearly doubling his size in width. He was an odd looking guy, with a crooked nose and  crooked teeth that gave him a sense of charm when put in context with his thoughtful brown eyes.

 

Those same brown eyes now looked Keith up and down, as if trying to decide if his foster mother was ever going to approve of him leaving the house looking as ragged as he did, and the frown that followed easily implied that the answer was no.

 

“Keith. Emily is expecting you next door in five minutes.I suggest you hurry up and get ready before she comes back and drags you there by your ears.”

 

He didn’t sound angry, but he didn't sound pleased either. However, his firm expression soon softened when he noticed the confused expression on the young boy’s face. “The block party,” he reminded.

 

“Lock the front door when you leave.” 

With that, Keith’s foster father shut the door, and left Keith to get dressed in something other than the sweatpants and tanktop he was currently sporting.

 

The decision wasn't a hard one, as it never was when it came to Keith and his wardrobe. After pulling his hair out of the loose ponytail and tossing his glasses onto the bed, he stripped of his current clothes and replaced them with a red hoodie and a pair of torn-up black skinny jeans. This was a typical outfit for Keith Kogane. It was edgy, but not enough to be noticed, or attract attention for too long. And it suited his uninviting personality rather well.

 

Lastly, he pulled on a pair of incredibly beat up converse, and called it good. He was wearing something other than lounging clothes, so what more could his foster parents want from him? As a last moment thought, he ran his thin fingers through his hair to somewhat tame it. He knew he was already going to receive enough comments about his mullet from Lance as it was, so the last thing he wanted was to be teased about his bedhead as well.

 

Once Keith had slipped his phone into his pocket, there was nothing left for him to do in the house other than lock the front door, and he did so on his way out, just as instructed.

 

Even though Keith was a bit bitter about having to attend the party, there was something joyful about the atmosphere surrounding his neighbor’s house. From the back yard, upbeat music could be heard from a radio station that primarily played songs of spanish melodies.  Mixing with the music was laughter and light chatter, that only increased in volume as Keith opened the old wooden gate and neared the mass of people.

 

Up above him, between Keith and the stars, was a sea of dull burning lights and lanterns. All of which were cleverly strung for the occasion, as they were for every party at Lance’s house.

 

There were many things that could be expected of a McClain celebration; music that Lance’s family knew by heart, Cuban food lined up on table after table after table, and children, running and playing around the front lawn, trying to catch fireflies in their chubby little hands. Keith only ever saw these kids once a year, so naturally he suspected that they were a part of Lance’s extended family.

 

After taking a seat at a plastic lawn table that was currently unoccupied, Keith scanned the small crowd in search for familiar faces. Most of the people here he vaguely remembered, all neighbors that he'd only spoken to once or twice over the five years that he'd been in the neighborhood.

 

There was one face that he knew better than any of the others, unfortunately. Lance McClain, a boy with tan skin and a thin body, who just now happened to be dressed in a loose blue t-shirt and faded jeans. He was busy flirting with one of the neighbor girls next to the drink coolers, and from the look of it, his charisma was paying off. 

 

Keith found amusement in it for a different reason entirely. From across the crowd, A small woman was approaching. Lance’s mother, who was making her way towards her son. And when she finally reached him, she muttered something (Keith couldn't understand) in Spanish, and then dragged him away by the back of his shirt. All the while, Lance pouted and complained, whining ‘mama’ over and over in tones that reminded Keith of a stubborn toddler.

 

It was Lance’s job to greet people as they entered, and he'd wandered awfully far from his post at the gate. That was where his mother dumped him off again, and then pointed a finger at him as a warning. At her core she was more sweet than stern though, so before she'd left, she made an effort to go up onto her toes and kiss her boy’s cheeks lovingly.

 

The small bit of affection seemed to brighten Lance’s mood, and it was obvious to Keith that he loved his mother very much. That was why he straightened up after she’d made her leave, and adjusted his shirt so he could do his job properly.

 

Lance McClain was a very extroverted person. His fondness for people was something that ran through his family's rich blood, and was a trait that every one of them possessed. With each smiling face that entered their humble lawn, and with each ‘hello’, Lance grew more energetic and peppy. However, it soon neared eight o'clock, and the stream of people trickling in quickly came to a stop.

 

Only then was he finally relieved of his duties, and allowed to continue mingling with the guests.

 

Keith Kogane was the closest victim, being that he'd chosen the table nearest the gate. And though Lance shared a mutual distaste for the boy, it never stopped him from strolling up and prying into his business.

 

“Social as always, Mullet,” Lance teased, looking down at the grumpy looking boy. “But I suppose just showing up is half the battle.”

 

Without asking Keith for permission, he pulled out a chair and plopped down beside him as if they were best buds. Keith would hardly even call Lance a friend; he was just the kid that he’d fought with every day for two years until Keith had gotten expelled and had to transfer to a different high school.

 

“Shouldn’t you be off trying to find the new Mrs. Lance McClain?” Keith raised a brow, signifying  that he wasn’t particularly interested in having a conversation with the other boy at the moment. Nonetheless, he was relieved to have a break from the awkwardness of sitting alone while couples danced around him on the grass.  

 

“She _or_ _he_ will find me when they’re ready,” he chimed back, speaking like a true optimist as he crossed his arms over his chest to mimic Keith’s defensive body language.

 

Suddenly a little self conscious, Keith uncrossed his arms and placed them lazily on the table top.

 

“Seriously though, why aren’t you eating or drinking anything? Or dancing?” Lance did a dorky little wiggle in his chair as a demonstration, grinning from ear to ear.

 

He was annoyingly enthusiastic in Keith’s opinion, but he assumed that was only because he naturally wanted everyone to have a good time.

 

“I don’t dance,” Keith answered monotonously, meeting Lance’s smile with nothing more than a blank expression, “and I was about to go get a drink before you sat down.” It was a lie, clearly, but Keith had no better excuse for why he’d just been sitting by his lonesome.

 

“Right… well if you happen to run into Mrs. Williams, please tell her I said thank you for the cookies. They’re even better this year than last year.”

 

Sure enough, just as Lance left the table, Emily swooped in and took his place.

 

“Eat the rest of this, will you?” She was never one for greetings, and Keith was hardly surprised when half a plate of chicken and rice was slid over in his direction.

 

Emily was a rather petite woman, with shoulder length brown hair that grayed at the roots. Much like his foster father, she was well past her forties; But anyone who observed her small facial features and her big green eyes would be able to see that she’d been a very pretty girl back in her day.

 

“Your eyes are too big for your stomach,” Keith murmured to her, like he did nearly every time she passed her food onto him. It concerned her husband how little she ate, But Keith knew she tried her best to be healthy enough to keep her frail body running.

 

With an airy hand motion, she brushed off his words and looked to the patio where Sam could be seen, chatting with Lance’s father over a beer. Keith thought It was pretty amusing watching his gigantic foster father talk to the short and chubby man, and Emily must have been thinking similar thoughts, as a warm smile stretched out on her lips.

 

“Lance says thanks for the cookies.” Keith didn’t really mean to derail her train of thought, but he wanted to tell her before he forgot.

 

“Oh I know. I had to shoo him away from the table,” she laughed, turning her green eyes back to keith. “He thought he was sneaky by pocketing one or two. That kid is more trouble than all of his siblings combined.”

 

Keith only nodded in agreement. Lance was definitely one of a kind, and shoving cookies into his pants was not the strangest thing Keith had heard of him doing. After all, this was the same teen who had accidently managed to get bubblegum simultaneously stuck in both of their hair on the first bus ride home eighth grade year.

 

“Speaking of Lance. Did you hear the boys practicing last night?”

 

Keith shook his head no. Yesterday evening he'd gone directly to work, and had stayed there until closing at nine.

 

“Well, I believe there’s a new addition to their band.”

 

It was a vague explanation, but Keith gave a soft sigh in understanding. No McClain celebration would be complete without a performance done by a small batch of the siblings. They weren’t terrible (for a group of children), but any time they made any progress, one of the kids would outgrow it or one would finally be old enough to join.

 

The neighbors never seemed to mind though, as it was obvious that the only reason the band had been formed in the first place was for them to have fun and make people smile. No one was actually focused on sounding good so long as they tried their best to put on a good show.

 

**June 3rd, 10:00 pm**

 

By now all of the families with young children had shuffled out to put their kids to bed, but the majority of the neighborhood was still lingering in the backyard when the radio was shut off. The squeal of a mic could be heard over the rumble of chatter, bringing all conversations to a quick end.

 

Up on the patio, three kids could be seen setting up and getting into place. Sitting at a drumset much bigger than she was, sat a little girl with wild, curly hair that had been sectioned into pigtails, causing little brown ringlets to bounce into her face every time she moved.

 

Next to her was a plump boy just a few years older with a similar complexion, holding a tambourine in one hand and a juice box in the other. Out of all of the McClain children, he looked the most like his father.

 

And in center stage, holding a beat up guitar adorned with faded and torn stickers was Lance, the oldest of the three up there. He was busy at work setting up the microphone for the trio.

 

Lance gave a wide grin as he tapped the mic, looking back at all the eyes who were on him. “Before we start, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming.”

 

Keith found it so cheesy how he was acting as if everyone had showed up just for him. But it was so very _Lance._ He was having a good time, and just because positive energy radiated off of him, it made everyone watching bubble up with happiness.

 

Lance gave a small count off, and then began to strum the intro of a song that Keith just barely knew. It was kind of amazing, actually, how his left hand would so quickly travel up and down the frets, knowing each position just from muscle memory.

 

“ _Savannah…..I hope to be there by the morning… and see this pinning all transforming into the arms of the Georgia sun….”_

 

Lance sang as if no one was watching at all, showing no signs of stagefright whatsoever. And even over the random, off beat thumps of the drumset and shakes of the tambourine, his silky smooth voice projected all throughout the yard.

 

He was grinning madly too, like an absolute fool.

 

A similar grin could be found on the face of his younger sister, who slammed down mercilessly on the trap set. She was a fiery little one, much like all of her older siblings. And just like Lance, she seemed to be soaking up every last ounce of her time in the spotlight.

 

“ _Yet I know you'll be there ‘cause you'll know I'll want you to be there….._

 _And we'll say hello as you're smiling in love..._ ”

 

Though Keith didn't entirely realize it, he couldn’t help but smile at the three goofballs. Lance was very obviously leading the show, though his brother chimed in every once in awhile on vocals as Lance’s back up singer.

 

Lance had talent. He really did.

 

But he wanted to share his love of singing and making music with his family, and so he encouraged them to perform along side him; just as his older siblings had done for him.

 

“ _You hold my hand like it's the first time….And all the feelings that our hearts find_

_Will be just what we expect…..”_

 

Not once had Lance’s fingers fumbled as Keith watched them move.

 

Lance was just a boy with a guitar and a good voice, and yet there was something so magnetic about him in this moment. Something so charming that drew the audience in.

 

“ _Baby, It's all I can do to thank you_

 _'Cause every time you wrapped those arms around me….I felt I was home ‘cause….Everything made sense when you were with me._ ”

 

With one last strum, the song came to an end and everyone who’d watched began to clap. To this, Lance gave a humble bow, and then gestured to his two exhausted looking younger siblings.

 

 **June 3rd, 11:00 pm**  


“Mama, how’d we do?” he asked, immediately being pulled down into a tight embrace. The woman was crying proud tears for her son, which he kindly wiped away with a hushed chuckle.

 

“You three sounded like angels. Your father and I were very impressed.”

 

Out of all the compliments Lance would receive that night, the one from his mother would bring him the most most joy.

 

“...You’re still not off the hook for clean up though, mijo.”

 

Lance gave a pout, but nodded in understanding as the woman patted his cheeks and then walked away. Normally Lance would do just about anything to get out of doing his chores, but tonight he was feeling more useful than normal.

 

By the time he’d gotten around to putting his guitar away along with all of the other equipment, the remaining families were in the process of grabbing their things and shuffling out. This was, in Lance’s opinion, one of the more successful McClain block parties.

 

Lance didn't really need to be told that it was time to start cleaning up the trash, but his father pointed to the garbage bags anyways, politely telling his son to get to work. So with a groan, the boy obeyed.

 

This was one of the easier jobs, since most of the tables were cleared off already. However, some drinks and random napkins still remained. And there was a strategy to his work, as he started with the front and made his way to the back. Meaning that the table Keith had been sitting at was the very last stop.

 

Sitting at his spot, was an empty plate which Lance would've sworn that he'd left just to spite him. But next to the plate was a black iPhone with chipped edges. Undoubtedly from having been carelessly dropped and thrown around.

 

Curiously Lance clicked the power button to see the lock screen.

 

Star Wars.

 

Yup, the phone definitely belonged to Keith.

 

Just to get back at him for the plate, Lance first shut off all of the other boy’s morning alarms, and then flooded his camera roll with ridiculous looking selfies. Even if it was cringe worthy, Lance knew it would get under his skin.

 

From behind him he heard the sound of the gate opening, and spun around to see none other than Keith Kogane himself.

 

“Snooping much?” He scoffed, quickly snatching the phone out of the brunette’s hands only to shove it deep into his left pocket.

 

“Is it really snooping if you left it here for me?”

 

Keith nodded, giving him a suspicious and slightly irritated look. “Yes, Lance. It is.”

 

To this, he only shrugged. It's not like he'd actually done anything wrong. Besides, for all Keith knew, he hadn't done anything at all.

 

“And to think, I was planning on telling you about how well you did tonight.”

 

It was kind of a backwards compliment, but Lance perked up at it nonetheless. Could it be true? Did he just receive the oh-so-rare praise of Keith, the neighborhood angsty emo teen?

 

“Thank, man.”

 

Keith was very obviously uncomfortable now that the conversation had dried out, and so he just watched awkwardly as Lance threw the remaining trash into the garbage bag.

 

“....do you want me to put that on the curb on my way out?” It wasn't very like Keith to offer his assistance. But he felt rude walking in while the McClain family was busy fixing the messes that had been made by guests.

 

And thankfully, Lance obliged and handed him the bag.

 

“Past your bedtime, Kogane?”

 

Keith shrugged and nodded, going along with it. He was actually pretty damn tired, and Lance could see that his face looked paler and longer than usual.

 

“Goodnight Lance. You weren't insufferable this time.”

  
Lance smiled, just a little, as he watched Keith close the gate behind him, trash bag in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**June 4th, 9:32 am**

When Keith woke up in the morning, it wasn’t due to any of his usual alarms. Instead he was woken up by a pair of paws kneading into the bed sheets covering his bare chest.

He wasn’t happy about being woken up early, but Keith loved the silly old black cat. It was a miracle that the thing was even still alive, especially after all her encounters with Lance’s German Shepherd throughout the years.

“I forgot to close the door last night didn’t I, Bandit?” Keith mumbled, petting her shabby coat. She was the only one who could bring out Keith’s softer sounding voice, especially in the mornings when he tended to be at his grumpiest.

When Keith had been brought into this foster home, he'd only been about thirteen years old; and at the time, he couldn’t have imagined why anyone would want to take a pre-teen under their wing. Bandit had been a learning experience for him. A month or so after he’d gotten situated, Emily and Sam took him to the animal shelter, and it was there that they found the sad old cat.

Taking home Bandit was the first thing they’d done as a family, and Keith grew attached to her with every day that followed. And he learned, through one of Emily’s sneaky, clever little lessons, that age truly didn't matter when it came to the desire to care for one in need.

Keith and Bandit had a mutual understanding of one another. Neither of them knew where they’d come from, nor why their own blood had abandoned them. But they were both strong enough and smart enough to realize that their upbringing didn’t define them.

“Why do you want my attention so bad, silly cat?” He asked as if she would truly respond. But when she didn’t, Keith only chuckled and pulled her up on his chest so he could scratch behind her torn ears. “Didn’t they warn you I’m bad company?” Bandit didn’t seem to mind, bad company or not. She saw him as a fine spot to curl up on, all the while purring like a young kitten.

Realizing that she was quite content to just lay there without the petting, Keith reached out an arm to grab his phone off the wooden, unbalanced nightstand. And after clicking the home button, that was when he finally realized that it was well past seven o’clock.

Hell, it was almost ten.

The boy suddenly sat up in his bed, causing Bandit to leap onto the floor with a displeased hiss. “How the FUCK…” Keith tugged harshly at his hair, looking wildly around the room as he tried to process how much trouble he was about to be in. He was what? Two hours late for work? How could this have even happened? Unless….

Keith would swear on his life that he hadn’t simply just missed his alarms. Which led him to believe that sometime between yesterday morning and last night, someone must've tampered with them. And he had an awful funny feeling that he knew who the culprit was.

“Lance,” he growled through gritted teeth, shoving the blankets aside. That boy had better pray that Keith wouldn’t run into him within the next twenty-four hours, or else he was going to be sent home with a wrung neck and two black eyes.

Though he was furious, he had enough sense to realize that his hatred for Lance would have to be dealt with at a later time. For now, he needed to get dressed so he could at least pick up the last couple hours of his shift.

Rather than get up and walk around the twin bed, Keith (dramatically, like the nerd he was) stood up on the mattress and jumped over the footboard. Which frightened the cat enough to fully persuade her to flee the room.

It was probably for the best too, as just a minute or so later, Keith was hopping around on one leg trying to tug on a pair of black skinny jeans. Once those were finally zipped, he straightened up and found his black button up dress shirt in the closet, and put that on as well.

Sure, maybe his job was lame as hell. But it was the only place with a uniform of all black.

His bathroom was connected to his bedroom, and usually it was a good three and a half steps from the closet. But today Keith made it to the sink counter in one determined skip. Upon looking himself over in the mirror though, he almost wished he hadn’t.

He was so very pale. And even though he’d gotten more sleep than he usually did, there were still dark bags beneath his eyes. Keith was incredibly hard on himself about some aspects of his appearance; Like how no matter how much he ate or exercised, his body wouldn’t put on weight or muscle.

And it didn’t help that he’d watched Lance transition from a chubby pre-teen to a teenage tease who liked to flaunt his slim but strong looking frame with every chance he got. It was thoughts like this that explained why Keith's toothbrush looked like it was used daily by a very aggressive child who angrily brushed his teeth with extreme force. Because that was exactly what happened.

Not once did he ever consider getting a new brush though, even now while he scrubbed it’s worn and tired bristles against his teeth and tongue. Morning routines were so tedious. But Keith was not going to leave the house without applying deodorant and running a comb through his bed hair (which had gotten even worse since last night).

As soon as all the necessities were out of the way, Keith snagged his keys off the nightstand, and sprinted down the stairs; not stopping til he was at the door of his ugly red Pontiac. Which, of course, refused to unlock until he'd nearly tugged the door off of its hinges.

It really doesn't help a man’s pride to have to fight with piece of shit machinery whenever he needs to leave the house.

Keith sincerely hoped that would be the last setback of the morning, but he felt in his gut that getting through the day was going to be difficult. Keith was a pessimist, especially in circumstances like this.

He honestly believed he was cursed. What other explanation was there for why he was stopped at every light from his house to his job? The traffic was horrendous too, believe it or not.

Keith was getting antsy. He was a fidgety driver to begin with, but this was worse than usual. At first he was tinkering with the radio, trying to somehow coax it into playing again. And then it was the window buttons, and then it was windshield wiper controls.

It was a miracle that he hadn't gotten into an accident from all of the distractions he was creating. All that mattered though, was that he hadn't.

 

**June 4th, 10:49 am**

His manager was definitely not happy with him when he appeared out of the blue several hours late, but she tossed a green apron at him nonetheless. Apparently she wasn't angry enough to fire him, so that was a relief for the boy.

His manager was beautiful and young, with long blonde hair that had craftily been spun up into a loose bun that sat atop her head. All in all, she looked as if she belonged in the small little coffee shop. The mass of rings on her long fingers practically screamed hipster, but her natural looking makeup and warm smile gave her vibes of authority and wisdom.

Keith and Diana often joked that if they weren't so gay, they might've ended up lovers. But they were both happy to just be work friends, and leave it at that. The sad truth was that In a couple of months, he'd be leaving this place, hell, this whole town behind. But the even sadder truth was that Keith knew he'd be just fine. He was used to cutting ties and starting new.

Keith was used to being lonely.

“Put the apron on quick, dipshit. You're taking the next three customers since you decided to be an ass this morning,” Diana whispered, discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

Keith was just about to retaliate, but he decided against it when he looked down to see a little girl grinning up at him from the other side of the counter. Her mother behind her though, looked much less amused by the display.

Keith awkwardly cleared his throat, pulling the apron over his head. He then proceeded to tie the straps around his slim waist, and then shot Diana a cold look which was only returned with snickering on her part.

“What can I get you ladies today?”

The little girl giggled, clearly happy to be called something other than a child. Keith hated children, he really did. But that didn't mean that they disliked him. If anything, it was the complete opposite.

“My Mom wants uh… a coffee, black, with um… cream and uh.. um… sugar?” She asked, looking up to her mom who gave her a proud nod. “And I would like some orange juice.”

Keith tried his best to look engaged, but customer service was definitely not his strong suit. Especially when the customer who is listing off the order is only four feet tall and pauses every other word.

“One coffee- sugar and cream, and an orange juice, correct?”

The woman handed him her card as a yes, and he swiped it without hesitation.

While Keith went off to the stainless steel fridge to grab the orange juice, Diana worked on preparing the coffee.

What Keith loved most about the cozy little coffee shop, was that everything about it felt so original. Everything from the bricks, to the random (though nicely framed) posters, to the ancient looking couches that sunk in whenever you sat on them. Keith liked how the nearly burnt out bulbs in the lamps on the tables barely gave off any light at all, and how there was always 80s pop songs playing for background noise. But most of all, he enjoyed how every coffee mug and cup in the shop was unique; having been donated by a happy customer or employee.

 

Every regular had a mug that they preferred, and Keith made sure to keep them on hand just in case one popped in to say hello over a cup of joe or tea.

For the girl, Keith chose a simple looking cup. A blue one, with big white polka dots. And he filled it all the way to the top with the orange juice before returning the jug to the refrigerator.

“There you go. Be careful not to spill,” he warned, holding out the cup so the kid could take it into both of her hands. She finally scampered off then, and found a spot in the corner to sit with her mom.

“Good boy,” he heard Diana taunt from behind him when there was no one in hearing range.

“Oh shut-”

Tisking, the blonde forced a mug into his hands.

It was Keith's mug, the one she'd gotten for him when they'd first become acquainted with each other. It was a light lavender, and read ‘#1 lesbian’ on it. He'd thought it was absolutely hilarious when she'd given it to him as a gift, and it had successfully relieved any tension or stress he'd had about starting the new job

The cup was warm, and filled with Keith’s favorite: a chai tea latte. She herself was drinking herbal tea, in the mint green cup that Keith had gotten for her as a thank you gift. On it in big bold letters said ‘Futch queen’, and it was safe to say that she loved hers just as much as he did his.

 

“You're not so bad after all,” he teased, hiding his crooked smile by pressing the mug to his lips for a sip. Diana made the best drinks out of all the baristas. It was no wonder why she pulled in the most tips.

He was enjoying his couple seconds of heaven too, savoring all the spices and the ever slight tingle of the cinnamon on his tongue. It was quickly brought to an end though, when the bell above the door chimed and in walked a tall and lanky boy dressed in shades of baby blue.

Diana took one look at Lance, and then one look at Keith, and just about choked on her tea trying to hold back a laugh. She had a knack for predicting when Keith was about to flip his shit. But the way Keith set his jaw upon seeing Lance’s Cheshire smile was enough to tell anyone that he wasn't happy.

“You fucking dick. How dare you come in here after you make me three hours late,” he whisper shouted, angrily placing his latte down so he could point a finger at Lance accusingly. “If you think I'm making you anything, you’ve got another thing coming. And it’s this foot up your ass” He was serious too, and that much could be confirmed by the fire in his gray-blue eyes.

Diana chimed in soon after though with a strategic cough, forcing Keith to regain his composure with a delicate hand on his shoulder. “I said the first three, Keith.” Though her voice was partially muffled by the thick ceramic of her mug she was drinking from, Keith understood what she was saying.

The boy gave a harsh groan, and rolled his eyes.

“What do you want.”

Lance let his jaw drop dramatically, giving a fake look of offense. “Why, Keith. I come for peace, not strife! I ask for nothing but an iced caramel coffee!”

His stupid voice made Keith’s teeth grind. Had Diana not been standing there, he might've just caved to his desires, and smacked Lance clear across the face. Or bashed his head against the counter. Or kicked his kneecaps in. The list was endless, really.

Thankfully the woman and her daughter had left before Keith began to make Lance’s drink. Otherwise they might've been a bit disturbed by all the clunking and clattering and (intentionally) obnoxious sounds that came from behind the counter while Keith made the coffee, simultaneously making the most noise he possibly could. And if that didn't upset them, they might've been appalled to watch Keith look Lance dead in the eyes as he spat into the boy’s drink.

It was incredibly successful in upsetting Lance, as he gave a whine in Diana’s direction, begging her to do something about it. But when she only gave a disappointed shrug, he decided to change his methods and swapped his pitiful expression for a flirtatious one.

“Your charms don't work here, Princess,” Diana scoffed, watching as the tan boy proceeded to bat his eyelashes. “I have a sexy girlfriend to come home to, so you're wasting your time.” Keith always smiled when his manager mentioned her girlfriend. They were so undeniably, unmistakably in love. She’d even told Keith a few weeks back that she had plans to propose to ‘the love of her life’, as she’d called her. Keith couldn’t even comprehend loving someone that much. Much less have it returned in a similar fashion.

Lance’s mopey looks resurfaced in the blink of an eye, causing Diana to give a deep sigh. Whiny Lance was so much more annoying than flirty Lance. “Tip me, and I’ll remake your drink,” she offered firmly. Lance of course complied, tossing half a dollar into her tip jar. That seemed to satisfy her, so with a curt nod, she spun on her heels and began her craft in the corner, leaving the boys alone to talk.

“Why are you here Lance, seriously.” Keith definitely wasn’t a ray of sunshine today. He was still very upset about being late to his job. Diana respected him, and treated him like a good friend. So it hurt Keith deeply to have disappointed her.

“I’m a regular, Keith. I’ve been coming here every week since before you even came to this town.”

Keith wasn’t sure why, but that stung a little. It made him feel like an outsider. Like he was more disposable than everyone else. But it was the truth in Keith’s eyes. He was nothing more than a passing face.

“But… Since I am here, and since you’re upset about something I-”

“You shut off my alarms, Lance,” Keith interrupted him, which only earned him a finger on the lips while the other boy tried to shush him.

Diana was back, with Lance’s Iced coffee in her hands. So after Keith swatted away Lance’s fingers, Lance grabbed the to-go cup from her.

“....as I was saying. I’ll make it up to you. When do you get off work?”

Keith bit his bottom lip, looking Lance over suspiciously. He didn’t really trust this guy. Not at the moment anyways. His plans always seemed just a bit too sketchy for Keith’s taste. But in the end, he shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at Diana who was taking inventory of the pastries in the front case.

“I’m going to cover her shift tonight, to make up for this morning. So around ten I guess. Why?” Keith wasn’t used to Lance apologizing for his antics. Typically Lance would just brush it off with a laugh and a simple ‘sorry’. For whatever reason, he seemed to bring out the worst in Lance. But this was a pleasing change of events.

Lance only smiled. But it was that funny, goofy smile that Keith only saw when he observed Lance talking to his close friends. It made Keith uncomfortable, but also… kind of honored. He’d never received a genuine Lance smile before.

“Just trust me, Kogane. I’ll be waiting on the bench on the end of the street at ten.”

Keith could only watch in confusion as Lance walked out of the shop, coffee in hand. A coffee that Keith had been sure that Lance hadn’t paid for. But surely enough, there was $2.50 laying there on the counter for him, like he’d known that Keith would doubt him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: flashbacks, blood, mentions of violence.

**June 4th, 10:31 pm**

It had taken even longer to close the shop than Keith had expected. But since he wasn’t typically the last one there at night, he wanted to do it properly so that Diana’s job would be easier tomorrow morning when she opened. Besides, he figured that Lance would be late anyways. And even then, if he had time to spare, he’d probably just be content to sit and enjoy the sights of the city around him. Lance always seemed to appreciate even the littlest things in life. Possibly because he was just a beautiful, naive idiot.

While Keith walked down the street with hands shoved deep into his pockets, he could clearly see the bench on the corner. It sat there so solemnly, looking overused and exhausted. All down the sides, the black paint was chipped and scraped until the silver metal beneath it could be seen. More than anything else though, it looked empty. Eerily so.

At first he assumed that Lance had baled. After all, Keith had been thirty minutes late to their little meet up. He was going to give Lance the benefit of the doubt, and at least walk to the bench to see if he was waiting around the corner. He was waiting for his nemesis to jump out and scare him, like he’d always done in ninth grade. He’d managed to scare Keith every single time, even just by screaming his name and grabbing his sides. Times were so much simpler back then.

Before Keith got to the bench, he was very suddenly and very harshly ran into by two big looking men. Keith was a fairly strong guy, but the impact of the blow was nearly enough to send him tumbling onto the cement. It was his last minute sloppy footwork that saved him from the fall. But within the time that it took him to recover, the suspicious looking strangers were long gone without a trace. Even the heavy sound of their boots were masked by the screeching of cars passing on the busy street.

When it came to emotions, Keith was completely clueless. His instincts though, those were usually scarily accurate. And Keith had a very bad feeling. A terrible, awful, gut wrenching feeling that resembled his heart being sucked into his stomach to be shredded into pieces.

With wide, round eyes, Keith continued down the sidewalk, holding his breath to try and force down the anxiety that was slowly spreading in his chest and coating his lungs.

Keith stopped suddenly when he heard a squishing sound from beneath his shoe. After crouching down, he picked up the plastic bag and brought it close to his face so he could examine it. With a nearby street lamp being his only light source, it was hard to comprehend what he was looking at. He couldn't quite tell what was inside of it, as the sugary looking substance was flattened beyond recognition. But if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it looked an awful lot like one of lance’s pastelitos.

Keith was no detective, okay. He was just a teenager; one who had just graduated, as a matter of fact. Most kids his age would've turned and ran after hearing a pained groan come from a dark alleyway behind them. But Keith’s feet worked on their own, walking towards the sound like they already knew the decision that his heart and his head were going to make.

Even after the empty bench, and the scary looking men fleeing the ally, and the destroyed pastries, Keith wasn’t emotionally or mentally prepared for the sight of Lance curled up in a little ball on the pavement.

He was shaking visibly, and though Keith couldn’t yet see Lance’s face, he was easily identified by his outfit. There was so much blood… god, it was everywhere. All over Lance’s torn clothing, and smeared on his tan skin, and on the ground around him.

Keith wanted desperately to reach out to him, but he was frozen there, unable to move.

-

_Suddenly Keith wasn’t in the alley anymore. Instead he was back in New York, watching a small little boy with tousled black hair get pushed into a corner by a group of kids much bigger and older than he was. Keith was so young at the time; only about eight years of age. The look on his face was not terror, but rather, confusion as he clutched onto the straps of his much too large backpack and looked up at the faces filled with anger. Anger that keith had no idea how he’d caused. All he’d been trying to do was walk home from school. And he tried to explain that too. Several times, and at the top of his lungs. But they wouldn't listen no matter how much he pleaded. He didn’t understand why these middle schooler’s were crowding around him. Nor why they’d begun to kick at his knees and his gut, or tug on his clothing, or shake him until he cried and cried and cried for them to stop._

_It had felt like hours worth of beatings; hours worth of pain, but in reality it must’ve been just a matter minutes._

_They’d continued until Keith had stopped making sounds entirely, and had stopped writhing around on the grass._

_He’d accepted death for the first time at the age of eight._

_Because he was too young to tell the difference between pain that was strong enough to knock you out, and pain that was strong enough to kill you._

_-_

 

When he looked down at Lance, he saw himself. He saw that same little boy with messy black hair lying lifeless in the grass, with broken bones and bruises scattered all over his eerily pale skin.

“Lance-” Keith called out, voice cracking with hurt. “Lance, it’s Keith.”

Lance flinched when Keith put a hand on his arm, as if he couldn’t physically handle being touched. But it was then that Keith saw Lance’s face for the first time.

It took a moment or two for Keith’s eyes to distinguish the difference between the shadows being cast on Lance’s profile, and the blood spread everywhere from his upper lip to his chin to his cheeks to his temples. Keith assumed that it was coming from his nose, but how it had traveled so far was a complete mystery to him. The most heartbreaking part though, was how Lance squeezed his eyes shut and rocked himself, mumbling in hysterics, begging people who weren’t even there to stop.

_‘Please stop. It hurts. please’_

Over and over and over and over. Those had been Keith’s words too. The only difference was that Lance had someone here who wanted to help. Someone who desperately wanted to soothe him and alleviate the pain.

“Lance,” Keith cried to him, sinking down to his knees. This wasn’t the Lance he knew. This wasn’t the Lance he’d seen yesterday. This wasn’t the Lance that had been singing with his siblings, or the Lance that had made everyone smile with joy with just a cheerful greeting. The Lance he knew would’ve gotten up, and laughed it all off like it was nothing.

The Lance in front of him looked so utterly shattered. It was obvious he didn’t have the strength to do anything other than just lay there. But Keith could see that none of his bones were broken, including his nose, so he let him. He’d never seen Lance vulnerable before. And it hurt so damn much.

In life, people subconsciously attach themselves to things they’re familiar with; Things they believe will never change. _Constants_. Lance was a constant in Keith’s life. He relied on their rivalry, and he relied on their bickering. He relied on Lance’s overly smug smile and his annoying pouting. Seeing Lance broken only caused Keith to break as well. Because this wasn’t what Keith was used to. Lance was the type of person that hurt others just by being hurt. And it had taken Keith five years to realize that he actually cared.

“Lance I'm so sorry. I’m...I’m so sorry.”

He recognized Lance’s state of shock from experience. It was likely that he had no idea that Keith was even there beside him. So Keith did all that he could to let Lance know that he wasn't alone, and he held the boy protectively in his arms; clutching him to his chest.

And Keith wept.

He wept and wept until his tears ran down his cheeks and fell onto Lance’s. And he wept until the only thing he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears and his own sobbing. And he wept until he was certain there wasn’t any more tears within him to shed.

_He sat there for what felt like hours, but in reality must've only been a matter of minutes._

And he asked himself, over and over again, what would've happened if he hadn't been thirty minutes late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I'll make things right, I promise


End file.
